Thanks
by L.M.Lewis
Summary: Later that same evening...


Disclaimer: These are not my characters and I make no profit from them.

**Author's Note:** A little sequel to "And Through the Woods".

**Thanks**

by L.M. Lewis

The feast had been moved back to nearly six p.m. to accommodate Frank Harper—a servant of the public slated to work the holiday shift. The meal had meandered, with Hardcastle at the helm as chief raconteur but Mark handling the navigation through the recent tale—how they'd narrowly escaped a fire only four days earlier in the Los Padres.

It was past seven-thirty by the time the pumpkin pie was consumed. Mark was collecting the plates. Lt. Carleton and his date begged pardon for eating and running; Hardcastle saw them to the door.

Now Teddy was on his feet, lending a hand. There might have been some secret signal from Mark. If so, it was nothing obvious to a casual observer. The rest of the guests—Frank and Claudia, and Mattie Groves, were being ushered into the den by the judge.

"There's more coffee," Mark said, over his shoulder as he headed for the kitchen with his hands full.

There were group assurances that nothing more—food or drink—would ever be needed again, at least not for a few hours, maybe even till morning. Teddy, with all the silverware piled precariously on one dessert dish, padded after Mark.

The kitchen was still all ahoo—leftovers from the earlier courses hastily moved back into this staging area, sitting alongside what seemed to be more pots, pans, and dishes than would be needed for an army. Teddy sighed deeply. Mark cast a glance at him and smiled slightly.

"Would you rather go sit in the den with three officers of the court?"

Hollins froze briefly and then shook his head.

"That's what I thought." Mark's smile became a grin. "Though maybe you should get used to it."

"Not me, pally," Teddy said quickly. "That's your problem—they're _your _friends."

Mark, who'd already turned away, paused in mid-scrape of a dish. "Yeah," he said, half to himself and then, a little louder, for Teddy's consumption, "s'pose so, but it's not a problem, really. They're just people, ya know?"

Teddy considered that for a moment and then nodded, with only the slightest reluctance. "Mrs. Harper's nice; she asked me where I was from."

Mark cocked his head and looked back at the younger man, puzzling. "Yeah . . . well, people do that out here a lot, I suppose. It's kinda an icebreaker."

"No, I mean, she asked me that, not 'Where've you been?', you know? Like mostly guys do."

Mark laughed. Teddy had a point there; among their circle of acquaintances the other question was more common.

"And when I told her I really liked that sweet potato stuff she made, she said she'd give me the recipe." Teddy leaned on the counter, as if the idea of written instructions for food was so foreign that it deserved some deeper thought.

Mark, still chuckling to himself, turned back to the plates. Teddy moved over to the sink and started sorting and stacking. His movements had taken on a sudden purposefulness that didn't seem very much in character, until Mark reflected that the other man now had over a year's experience with dishwashing on a commercial scale.

"Thanks for coming today," he said quietly. "I appreciate it." He made a quick gesture toward the sink and added, "Didn't mean for it to be a busboy's holiday."

Teddy gave him a grin, followed by a nod. "No problem. I didn't have any plans and it was kinda fun." He paused, and then added, "They're just people, right?"

"Exactly."

With the last of the plates scraped and stacked, Mark left Teddy to fill the sink and get on with it, while he moved back to the leftovers, studying the still-laden carcass. He grabbed a clean plate and picked up the carving knife and fork. "I can bag some of this up for you—to take home."

"Thanks," Teddy said. Then, after a moment, he repeated that one word again, with more sincerity that one would expect for the prospect of turkey sandwiches.

Mark looked up from what he was doing and smiled vaguely. "No problem. We like having you over." Belatedly, he hoped the 'we' hadn't sounded too odd.

Teddy said nothing to indicate the pronoun was unexpected. He lowered a stack of dishes into the soapy water and lifted the first one. It was several dishes and a minute or so before he spoke again, and then it sounded like a non sequitur.

"This is the longest."

"Longest what?" Mark said absently as he trimmed the last of the white meat from the bird.

"Sixteen months," Teddy lifted his head and was gazing out the window into the dark yard and the even darker ocean beyond, "the longest I've ever been out."

This time Mark didn't have to ask what he was talking about. It was difficult to think of Teddy as a hardened criminal, but it was no stretch to classify him as a repeat offender.

"That's good, isn't it?" Mark said, even offering a quick shrug. "Maybe it means you're over the hump, huh?"

Teddy's laugh was not quite up to his usual goofiness. There was the slightest hint of nervousness to it. Mark looked sharply in his direction. Hollins was back at the dishes, scrubbing a china plate until it squeaked and then rinsing it with equal thoroughness.

Mark waited him out. When nothing more was forthcoming, he finally said, with just a hint of asperity. "You promised, right? You agreed that if you were thinking of doing something stupid you'd call me first."

"Yeah, Skid," Teddy's nod came equally quickly, "and . . . _thanks_."

Mark frowned, hacking off the remaining leg and tossing it into a Tupperware container. "For what?"

Teddy looked over his shoulder, grinning. There was a half-shrug from him. "I just kinda think I mighta done something stupid by now except I didn't want you to be mad at me when I called you up."

Mark's own smile was a little slow in coming, having been taken by surprise, but it finally arrived. He shook his head and when back to his turkey dismantling saying, "If that what it takes, Teddy . . ."

00000

They finished the last of the chores, Mark packaging up some potatoes and cranberry sauce for Teddy as well, and setting it all aside. They strolled down to the beach side of the yard, inspecting the twinkling horizon off to the southeast, and the scattering of early winter stars overhead. The hour wasn't all that late, but Teddy was already taking his leave.

"Gotta work the morning shift," he said. "You know, day after Thanksgiving, those ladies've already been at it for three hours when they come in at nine. They're kinda frazzled. They need their coffee."

They went by way of the kitchen, picking up the leftovers, but then out and around the house rather than past the den, at Teddy's request. For some odd reason, Mark was no more eager to return by the front door after he'd seen Teddy off, but it was too late to get away scott-free. He'd already heard voices behind him on the steps—Mattie bidding the rest good-bye.

She'd spotted him, too, and detoured from the direct line to her car.

"Teddy left?"

"Early morning for him."

"Me, too," she said. "Us working stiffs," she added with a cheerful smile. "But I didn't want to leave without thanking you first. You make a mean batch of mashed potatoes. The whole dinner was terrific."

"Hardcastle helped," Mark said nobly.

"I'll bet," Mattie grinned. "Somebody has to supervise, eh?"

Mark grinned back. "Just like the first Thanksgiving—you got your Indians, and your chief."

"Well, the effort was appreciated." She patted him on the arm and went up on tiptoe, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. "Thanks."

Then she'd turned toward her car, leaving him in her wake. He stood there, hands in his pockets, watching her pull away. Her taillights had hardly disappeared around the turn when he heard the door behind him again. Frank was still in the doorway, saying some last thing to Hardcastle but Claudia was already headed down the steps.

She had a chastising expression. "I went in the kitchen to lend a hand but you two had already gotten the whole thing knocked into shape."

"It's okay," he said blithely. "Once in a while you should try and be just a guest, Claudia."

"You like cars; I like kitchens."

He was still trying to get that idea into his head when she added, "Thanks."

He nodded and then added, "Not up to your standards, but—"

"It was all _fine_," she said, sounding mildly exasperated, "but that wasn't what I meant." She glanced over her shoulder. The two men were still up on the porch, deep in some final exchange of conversation. She turned back to Mark and said it again. "_Thanks_."

She leaned into him and gave him a quick hug. There was barely enough time for him to return it before she broke free, giving him one last quick inspection, and then heading for her car. "Next time," she said over her shoulder, "at least save me some dishes to dry."

She waved as she climbed into the passenger seat. He was still smiling fondly when he felt a quick tug at his elbow and looked sharply to his side.

"Thanks," Frank said, "it was a nice idea." He glanced over towards his car and then leaned in a little closer and dropped his voice. "Claudia was kinda miffed about me working the holiday. This was a good idea and, well . . ." this time he was looking over his shoulder, back toward the house, where Hardcastle still stood in the doorway, "like Milt said, it's nice for people to get together for the holidays."

Mark stifled his laugh.

Frank grinned wryly. "You twisted his arm a little, huh?"

"Not too much," Mark assured him. "It's just that he's got a reputation to keep up."

"You figured that out, have ya?"

"Practically from day one."

Frank cocked his head for a moment and finally said, "Good . . . I think." Then he shook his head and smiled one more time, thoughtfully. "Thanks," he said again, as he turned toward the car.

Mark stood there, slightly bemused, as Frank climbed in and pulled away, Claudia waving out the window. He turned back to the house and saw the door still open, and Hardcastle still standing there. It had been a long day, but it still felt unfinished. He strolled toward the front steps.

"Nice dinner," Hardcastle said casually.

"Yeah," Mark agreed, "no lumps in the potatoes."

"Not a one. Turkey was moist, too."

It ought have been," Mark grinned. "Not very brown, though."

Hardcastle brushed that off with a wave. "Nobody eats the skin. 'S not good for you."

He half-turned and headed back into the den. Mark padded after him. "We've got some pie left."

The judge grunted. "No room. It's only been a couple of hours." He glanced out the window at the empty drive. "Teddy hit the road already, huh?"

Mark nodded and dropped into a wing chair. "He's got an early morning, tomorrow."

Hardcastle glanced back at him. "You two didn't have to hide out back in the kitchen."

"Teddy," Mark shrugged. "Frank makes him nervous."

"Frank's never _arrested_ him," Hardcastle observed.

"And he'd like to keep it that way."

The judge sighed, and sank into his own chair behind the desk. "Well, Teddy and Authority is kinda like oil and water." He frowned for a moment. "I'm glad you don't have that problem."

"Hell, no," Mark said, looking toward the front window, "I got kissed by a judge tonight." At Hardcastle's continued frown, he quickly added, "Don't worry, we never got past first base."

The frown briefly descended to a scowl but that didn't hold. Another sigh followed, this one more resigned. "That's just Mattie being friendly."

"And I was a perfect gentleman," Mark said archly.

"Well, that's a first."

Mark just smiled. A moment of silence spun out. He finally put his hands on both arms of the chair and pushed himself up, wearily. "Maybe just a little piece of pie . . . and some whipped cream."

"Or ice cream," Hardcastle added, also getting to his feet. "I could go for a little ice cream."

"Or both," Mark suggested. "And there's a lot of turkey left."

He was already in the hall, heading for the kitchen before he heard it from Hardcastle, spoken with a little more emphasis than seemed to be called for with regards to an offer of a turkey sandwich and pie, but otherwise unelucidated.

"Thanks."


End file.
